How You Remind Me
by Chash
Summary: Nearing the second anniversary of the end of the Gundam War, the world is not quite the way we remember it. Shonen ai later.
1. Prologue

How You Remind Me: Prologue

By Chash

Oh god… I thought I had left this behind.  Evidently not.  ^___^ I do love Tro and Quat.  This might come out slowly… I'm very busy.  

            Quatre Logan was watching television.  He liked television as a rule, particularly old television.  He liked it when there were happy people with simple lives, ones whose main problems were easy things, like tests and school and little insignificant problems.  He hated the news.  He also hated war movies.  More than anything, he hated the war that had just ended, even though he hadn't known anyone in it.  He hated it because he was sure there had been boys in it just like him, boys his age who had fought and died.  He hated war movies and particularly the new movies that were coming out now about the Gundam War.  And there were a lot of movies coming out about the Gundam War.  Out of curiosity that he could not explain, he had read an article about the obsession with Gundam War movies.  

"It's the mystery," a director interviewed in the article had explained.  "No one knows who the pilots of the Gundams were, so there's infinite scope for heroes to be created, especially nearing the second anniversary of the end of the war.  That's instant publicity.  If the real pilots emerged, it would probably actually reduce the number of films being made.  For example, one new film coming out sets the pilots as five incestuous lesbian sisters from the traditionally pacifist Winner family.  Of course, they don't admit that it's the Winner family; they call them the Winters or something.  Really, though, any family made up of twenty-nine pacifist sisters and one dead pacifist brother is obviously a mirror of the Winners."

The article had continued, but Quatre had not been able to bear reading it.  He hated hearing about the Winner family.  He always felt sorry for that single son whose name he could never quite remember though he was sure he had read it a thousand times.  He shook his head and went back to the TV.  He was watching _When Harry Met Sally… and thanking some god above that he had no sisters of his own to tease him for watching chick flicks (though sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night and swear he did).  It was almost over.  He'd seen it many times before, but it was hazy in his mind._

"I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible," Billy Crystal explained, topping off an amazing speech.

Quatre considered the words.  He'd never had a girlfriend in his life, but somehow the words sounded familiar.  He'd never been in love, but he felt as if he had once felt that way.  As if he had once run down to the tent with the lions in it and flung open the flap and longed to confess love just like that but he hadn't had the words and he had never done that.  He didn't know where it had come from, but it was not him.  He was Quatre Logan and had never been anywhere near a lion and never been in love.  

He wondered, idly, as the movie ended, what that Winner boy's name was and if the circus would ever come to town.

tbc, I suppose.  Feedback, please, it will make me write this and bring me joy while I die in my classes.


	2. Part One

How You Remind Me: Part One

By Chash

Thanks to everyone who gave feedback—hopefully it will start making sense soon.  I make no promises, though.  Not mine, don't sue.

            Triton Bloom was not a remarkable boy.  He was an orphan, but considering the war, that was relatively normal.  He lived with his older sister, Catherine, and worked in a circus.  Not completely normal for a boy of seventeen, but not unheard of either.  His sister was a knife thrower.  She used to throw knives at him.  He didn't blink, just watched them come.  She never missed.  It was amazing.  After the war, though, people hadn't wanted to see knives.  The silver arcing through the air reminded them too much of the wars and the death.  Triton worked with the lions now.  He liked lions.  It always surprised him that the lions were still popular.  They were deadly too.  Catherine said it was because the lions were tame.  Triton responded that the knives never hit anyone.  Catherine looked away.

            "I don't want to throw knives anymore either, Triton," she said then.  "I'm afraid of hitting you too."

            "You've never hit me.  We've been doing this for years and you've never hit me."

            Catherine did not look him in the eye.  "Yes, we've been doing this our whole lives, haven't we?"

            "Aa.  Mother and Father would have been proud of us.  They were in the circus too, weren't they?"

            "Yes, they were.  And we used to be happy family, Triton.  The four of us used to be happy."

            "We're happy now, though, aren't we, Catherine?"

            "Yes.  We're happy now, Trowa."

            "You did it again," said Triton absently.  "You called me Trowa."

            It happened enough that he was used to it.  Triton looked a great deal like their older brother, Trowa, who had died before Triton's birth.  Catherine said they had the same hair and eyes.  She never met his eyes when telling him about Trowa.  Triton had long ago decided that Catherine did not like to meet people's eyes.  

            Triton sighed, returning himself to the present.  Since the end of the war and the stop of Catherine's knife act, business for the circus had boomed.  Now people loved to see clowns and laughter.  Anything happy.

            Triton was not allowed to be a clown.  He wasn't happy enough.

            Quatre was on the train, holding onto the ring coming off the bar over the seats.  It was dark already and Tokyo spread out behind him, a pattern of lights and neon.  He had come to Japan for his summer vacation and fall was drawing near.  He was leaving soon.  He felt as though he had missed something.  He felt as though he had come here for something and he had failed.  

            "Hey!  You look like a foreigner!  You speak English?" Quatre jumped.  No one talked on the train and here was a loud American hailing him.  Somehow, he knew what he'd see before he turned: a boy, about his age and height, blue eyes (maybe violet—but he suspected dark blue in this light), long braid (he'd never seen a boy with a braid before, but was confident this one would have one), probably wearing black, and a smile.  He turned.  He was right.

            "Yes," Quatre said, quietly, trying to respect the quiet of the train as best he could.  The American didn't seem to notice.

            "Thank god!  I mean, I know Japanese and all, but man!  I've been speakin' nothing but nihon-go," he pronounced it atrociously, but somehow Quatre knew he could do better, "for months!  Not often I see another gaijin.  Where ya from?"

            The gaijin sentiment surprised Quatre.  He'd seen plenty of other non-Japanese in his time in the country.  They stood out like sore thumbs.

            "Oxford," Quatre replied.  The other boy goggled.

            "Wow!  That's in England, right?"

            "I don't see why that's so surprising.  England's a lot closer to America than Japan."

            "Yeah, but I've been to Japan tons of times.  I practically live here, man!"  Quatre got the sense that the American _did live here.  "England, though… that's somewhere I've never been.  Is it cool?"_

            "It's all right."

            "How long ya been here?"

            "It's just for my summer holiday."

            "Ya gonna see the anniversary celebration?"

            "Maybe.  I don't like thinking about the war."

            "Yeah… neither do I.  Name's Duo, by the way."

            "Quatre."

            "It's nice to meet you, Quatre," Duo seemed to be thinking.  "Have you seen any Japanese with blue eyes?"

            Quatre blinked.  "What?"

            "I'm looking for someone.   A Japanese with blue eyes.  They aren't that common, harder to spot than gaijin though.  Have you seen any?  Dark brown hair, dead blue eyes…"

            Quatre shook his head, though he could picture the boy that Duo seemed to be seeking.  He was sure he'd never seen the image in his brain and wondered where it came from.  Probably just imagination.  "Is he a friend of yours?"

            "No, never met him in my life.  But I think he has to be around here somewhere."  Duo stared out the window, looking up at the stars.  "Have you ever been up there?"

            "To the colonies, you mean?"

            "Yeah."

            Quatre shook his head.  "My parents don't like me flying.  They think there are still evil-doers left over from the war who are going to kill me.  Still… It must be terrifying to be up there, alone in space, with no one near you at all." 

            Quatre shivered and Duo nodded.  "I haven't been up there either.  No cash."

            "Have you asked your parents?" he asked.  Duo shrugged.  

            "They died about a year ago.  I've been here ever since, looking for that boy.  I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like everything will be okay if I just find him."

            "No, I think I understand.  I have this weird thing about circuses," Quatre replied, wondering why he was telling these things to a boy he barely knew.  He'd never known Duo very well, had he?

            "Man, I'm getting the weirdest vibes from you.  No offence, it's just kinda freaky.  Feel like I know ya or something.  And that isn't a pick-up line.  Man, I gotta sound nutso…"

            "No, don't worry about it…" Quatre couldn't bring himself to say that he felt the same strange feeling, something stopped him.  Instead he looked out the window to the lights.  "I really hate that war."

            "Yeah," Duo said with his voice serious for the first time.  "I hate it too."

            Quatre believed him. 

            "Trowa!"

            "Triton," Triton grumbled.  It was far too early to be mistaken for someone else.

            "Sorry, Triton!  But come on, wake up!  Remember, we're leaving for the Tokyo anniversary celebration.  You have about ten minutes to get your ass out of bed, get your stuff, and get in the car!"

            "Why didn't you wake me up earlier?"

            "You think I didn't try?  You sleep like a log.  Come on, I'll haul your stuff, just please put on some pants or something!"

            "All right… I'm moving.  Why do we have to do something for the anniversary?  You know I hate it."

            "Man, I thought you'd be stoked as the rest of us that the war was over, 'specially with how much you hated it."

            Triton considered this.  He'd never explained his hatred of the war anniversary to his sister, and this was the closest she'd ever come to pressing the issue.  He couldn't explain why, but somehow he resented the end of the war.  He felt as though it had damaged him, taken him out of his environment.

            He'd grown used to war, and he couldn't say why.  So he said nothing.  Catherine was used to that.  She understood that silence was simply a part of him, something she couldn't remove.  That was how he felt about the war.  He couldn't explain that to her.  He couldn't even explain it to himself.

            Catherine had since wandered off to load up her car.  He began to pull on clothes, wondering what earth was like.  He didn't think he'd ever been.  He couldn't quite remember, though.

            "Triton!  Are you moving yet?"

            "Yeah," he replied, pulling on his shoes and jumping out of the trailer to help her finish with the luggage.  "What's earth like?"

            "I don't know, I've never gone," replied Catherine.

            "Right, I forgot.  It seemed like if I'd gone, you must have."

            "You haven't gone, Triton."

            "Oh," Triton blinked.  "Right."

            Catherine shook her head.  "Honestly, Triton, you have the worst memory."

            "Says the girl who keeps calling me Trowa," he replied.  She looked away.

            "That means my memory's too good," she replied.  Her voice was quiet and she obviously hoped that he couldn't hear her.  He pretended he hadn't.

            She hated it when she asked about Trowa.

            "Hey, Quat," Duo glanced over at Quatre.  The two had met for lunch at one of the Mosburgers in Tokyo.  

            "Hm?" Quatre asked, mouth full of a teriyaki burger.

            "Says there's gonna be a really famous circus at the anniversary celebration.  Think we should check it out?"

            "Might as well, I guess," he sipped some Coke.  "Hey, Duo?"

            "Nan desu ka?"  Again he mispronounced it horribly.  Quatre had heard his completely fluent Japanese at the counter, so he assumed Duo simply liked to warp people's assumptions.

            "Why do you hate the anniversary?"

            "Hmm… ya know, I've never quite been able to explain that.  Cuz ya see, I couldn't stand the war.  But I hate the anniversary more."

            "That's how I feel."

            "We got a lot in common, don't we?" said Duo, wonder in his voice.  "Gotta question, though."

            "Okay."

            "Why don't you have an accent?  It's been bugging me."

            "I don't know.  I didn't know I didn't have an accent."

            "Yah, it's kinda weird.  Ya know the Brit accent's really noticeable cuz you all sound stuck up, cockney, or like a weird butler, but you sound really normal.  Like an American!"

            "I think you sound pretty weird, Duo.  I'm used to the British."

            "So weird… hasn't anyone else ever told you that you don't sound English?"

            "Not that I can remember."

            Duo nodded.  "Memory's a weird thing, innit?"

            "Yeah.  It really is."

            The anniversary was in five days.

tbc


End file.
